


Travelling

by grizzly_bear_bane



Series: David and Noah [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Domestic, M/M, Nightmares, Original Fiction, PTSD, Recovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-27
Updated: 2013-01-27
Packaged: 2017-11-27 01:28:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/656506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grizzly_bear_bane/pseuds/grizzly_bear_bane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>...Safe?  My mind had been having trouble recalling what that word was supposed to mean to me, ever since I’d woken up to an empty house in the middle of a hurricane whose sole purpose on that terrible, endless day was to have me murdered… Four months later, now, it was still trying to finish the job...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Might be more rubbish. Sorry. :/

****

  **(Wyoming)**

_“The door broke into pieces… the water’s rising too fast!”_

_“Noah, you need to get into the attic and onto the roof!  Climb onto the fridge and start knocking the ceiling out…”_

_I tried to keep calm as blood ran down my leg, now using the hammer to help feel my way forward.  I could not lose track of what I needed to do and where I was.  I had to get out to the roof…_

_I knew I was going to die even before I felt too many hard and sharp, heavy things push in and around me; before the cable cord got tangled around my banged-up legs and water filled my lungs._

_I could not swim.  Ever.  I had never felt the need to learn._

_My lungs were burning.  I tried to pray for an easy death, but I couldn’t, mind always going back to David.  Did he know I was dying?  I hoped not._

_I fought the water… kick, kick, kick…_

_I fought the water… kick, kick…_

_I stopped fighting…_

 

I knew the very second David shook me awake that I had been screaming, clawing at the sheets, kicking, and dying again.  I was still caught in the nightmare, trying to fight David off as if he were heavy debris pulling me underwater – which in the fog of my mind, he was – even as I heard my parents banging on the door to the bedroom, fear and concern marring their voices for another night in a row.

_“Noah!  Wake up, it’s okay.  You’re safe!  Noah, wake up!”_

Safe?  My mind had been having trouble recalling what that word was supposed to mean to me, ever since I’d woken up to an empty house in the middle of a hurricane whose sole purpose on that terrible, endless day was to have me murdered…

_“Noah?  Noah!”_

Four months later, _now_ , it was still trying to finish the job.

“NOAH!!” 

* * * 

The old, wooden chair creaked as dad sat back, his fork making a clinking sound as it was dropped onto his plate, finished with his breakfast. “Noah, boy,” his low, mellow voice rumbled over to me from across the table “You gonna eat your breakfast?  Now, I’m only guessing it’s getting cold, but I can tell you for sure, it’s good food.  Made it myself, you know – with your ma and David’s help, of course – while you were still… asleep.  It’d break my little, old heart if you didn’t try it,” he teased, trying his hardest to make it sound like my eating wasn’t that serious, that he wasn’t simply trying to guilt me into feeding myself when all I wanted to do was vomit.

“I will, dad.  I’m just not that hungry right now, but I’ll try it…”

I couldn’t tell which was worse these days; _almost_ dying in a plethora of horrific predicaments inside David’s attic as floodwaters continued to chase me, knowing for sure that I was in fact, going to die, or surviving and having nightmares almost every night that never seemed to lessen in their intensity, but instead, seemed to worsened each night, about said flood, and then have to pretend with the rest of my family – as my parents and boyfriend sat around me at breakfast, all painfully quiet and tense – that it never happened and that I was perfectly fine, or at least getting better every second of the day. 

But as I sat at the table with my family, I knew that wasn’t the case.  No one, not even David, was trying to sugarcoat anything about what happened this morning, or yesterday, or the day before that… Their silence came from a since of helplessness, of trying to give me the space I needed to fight, or at least learn to ignore, the things those dreams brought back into focus for me, like the fact that I was sitting in the kitchen and everything was okay, that the small lake in the back of the house wasn’t about to consume us all, that I was here, at home, with my family, not alone, and that, after breakfast, David and I would go take a shower together and I would be clean again… well, at least clean enough, until the sticky feelings of stagnant water, sweat, and blood came back.

It is important that David showers with me now; he always showers with me, everyday.  To a stranger, it would seem odd to do something so intimate in my parent’s house, even if we were adults, but I need him to be there to make sure nothing goes wrong…

Because I hate being alone and underwater.

Every shower, every bath turns into a sort of contest to see how fast I can scrub my skin raw.  I get under the spray and the smells come back, the dirt, and decay, the mildew and bleach, the dead things all mixing together in the filthy water, sticking to my skin, in my mouth, and I can’t get clean, can’t wash it all away. 

I have to scrub harder, faster, so it won’t come back, but it always does.

Then the shower itself joins the flood in my mind.

The warm spray turns into rain; I’m underwater again… I can’t breath, I can’t move.  I’m sinking.

“Noah?”

I’m underwater again…

“Noah!”

…and I’ll drown if I don’t get out, but my body is too broken and trapped to move anywhere safe—

“NOAH!” I felt David’s strong hands shake me back to safety, the reality that the only thing covering me was David’s arms as they reached past me to turn off the cursed water.

We didn’t move, didn’t speak for a long time.  In the beginning, an attack like this would have David going into hysterics and on the phone with my new shrink before I stopped screaming, but now, he got a pill out of the little plastic box that stayed near the soap in the shower and put it in my mouth, and simply held me, rode out the shaking, heavy sobs, the nonsense words.  He held me tightly, never letting my weak limbs drag me to the floor; I had to remain standing to stay above the imagined water, for David, I had to keep standing.

“That’s it, Noah, keep breathing deep.  It’s okay, sweetheart, you’re safe.  Do you know where you are right now?”  David’s voice was soothing, bringing me back.

“Wyoming…” My head felt thick and stomach rebelled and I threw up before I passed out. 

* * * 

I was surprised when I woke up that I’d actually slept this time.  “What…”

“You awake in there, sweatpea?” The bed I’d been placed on sunk by my shoulder as David leaned over the mattress for a kiss. “You weren’t out very long, only ten minutes.  Feeling any better?”

“Yes.  I didn’t have the dream.” I reached up to find his face, needing the contact.

David instantly climbed all the way onto the bed to lay next to me. “That’s great.  Did you dream of me instead, _chéri_ ,” he placed another quick kiss on my cheek and forehead, “Was I being a good, little boy, or was I being naughty?”

“I didn’t dream anything at all, actually.”

“That’s great that you finally got some sleep, I was getting worried about you.”

“I’m sorry about earlier, in the shower.  If I’d have known it was going to get that bad again, I would have—”

“Hey, what did I tell you about that?  It’s not your fault.”

“Yes, it is.  It _is_ my fault that I can’t get over what happened.  You have nothing to do what that.  What goes on in my head isn’t your fault—”

“Yes, it is, because I caused this!” He stopped and took a deep breath. “I left you in that house, and I’m prepared to pay for it.  You are a victim, Noah, and having side effects from that isn’t your fault, because I was the one who put you in the situation in the first place to turn you into a victim.  I should have…”

“David, please.  Stop.” I took his face in my hands, wiping the tears away where I felt them.  He’d been beating himself up over this for months now, and he needed to stop.

“You’re right.  It didn’t help anything.” He rose up off the bed again. “Well, I’m going to be then next room with your mom doing some laundry.  Do you need anything?”

_I need you.  Please stay._   “No, I’ll be alright.  I’m happy that you’re getting along with my parents so well.  It’s nice.”

“Yeah, you’re a lot like both of them, you know.  Quiet, mellow, easy on the eyes,” he teased. “Gosh, I kinda wish your sister was here; I can’t imagine what traits she took from them.”

“The ability to lose her virginity at thirteen, and have six boyfriends at the same time and have none of them know about each other, I think she got that from both of my parents.”

“Your dad had boyfriends,” he teased, knowing full well what I’d meant.

“I don’t know, why don’t you go and ask him?”

“Right, because I’d love to have him kick my ass and throw me out of the only house around here for miles, because I’d love to go live out in the stables with broken limbs, using the horses for protection against evil, hungry wolves.”

My heart sank as his footsteps moved him away and into another place.  I knew I was overreacting; he was still here in the house, in the next room for Christ’s sake, with my mom.  Knowing that I was more than likely two minutes away from running after him and begging him to come back, I retrieved the anxiety pills from out of the nightstand and took one out, along with two painkillers and a few other medications for cramps and any excess fatigue, just in case.

I lay back down on the soft bed in haze of my medications as they began to put me sleep, growing irritated with David for leaving me again.  Was doing laundry so much more important?  Shouldn’t spending time with me be higher up on his list of priorities?  I mean, I could be gone tomorrow, or have made a mistake taking so many pills just now, that I may go to sleep and never wake up again.  We’d both been given a second chance to fix things and do them right this time.

I wasn’t sure I would get another chance after cheating death once already.  Why couldn’t he see how fragile my life was now?  Couldn’t he… 

* * * 

_tick… tock… tick… tock… tick… tock…_

The clock ticked loudly on the wall in the silence of the bedroom that didn’t feel like mine anymore.  Everything except the giant wolf skin hanging over the headboard of the bed, felt like it belonged to someone who’d grown up in this room.

I rolled over in the thin sheets on the wide bed, fingers trailing over the wrinkles and bundles of fabric, feeling, listening for breath or a touch to see if David was near.  He was still gone.  The room was lifeless but for me and the clock.

It felt like the whole house was empty, it was too quiet.  I’m alone, again.  _That should be okay, right?  I can manage._ My body involuntarily cringed in anticipation of something catastrophic happening to me in this instant.  I was alone, which meant that at any moment, I was going to die, again.

But no, I wasn’t alone.  I could hear a cowbell, a bark from one of the dogs, the wind chime outside as it blew in the wind on the porch.

My body relaxed a little.  If I could just get there, outside, I’d be safe, I’d be fine, so I sat up, confused for a moment.  Am I wearing shorts, or are these boxers…?  Boxers, which only meant more work for me. I’d need to find pants if I planned on escaping this time.  And shoes.  But then, who cares?  I didn’t have any time for those things now, I needed to get outside, and no one else was here.  My family’s not here, David’s not here…

I shook my head and tried to focus, knowing that I was having another attack, but unable to stop myself from leaving the bed and looking for dry land…

My bare feet tapped quietly on the old, polished wooden floor, the knotted rug made by my grandmother when I was child, over the threshold of the bedroom, then out into the slightly narrow hall, fingers grazing a stucco wall here, a potted plant on a low table there.  The breeze coming in from all the opened windows felt refreshing as I made my way closer to the doors that lead to the big, stone porch and the four wide steps.

I paused for a moment, the smell of cigarette smoke disorienting me, floating to me from somewhere in the kitchen, but it was only the remnants of one of dad’s butts in the ashtray on the glassy, cold, flat counter.

The front double doors were opened when I reached out for them.  I could hear the outside so clearly just from this spot. There were sheep probably grazing in the side field, and the horses were restless in the stables.  The porch had not been swept in a while, and the dry dust under my feet made me relax more, feel safer.  There was water in back of the house, but here, it was only dry dirt and grass beyond the steps.

A fallen twig snapped somewhere in front of me, followed by a short bark from a little dog, knocking my mind finally out of its trance.  Before I could get to the source and find out whose dog it was, the old rocking chair behind me, to my left, groaned and dad cleared his throat and yawned.

“Noah, boy?  How long have you been standing there?”

“I just walked out… How long have you been sitting there?” I left the porch to sit on the grass with the little, fluffy terrier, quietly calming down after being startled by dad.

“Gosh, I dunno… Fell asleep, I guess.  I was supposed to be watching after you, while David and your ma went out to your Uncle Joel’s store in town.  I came out here to sit for a few minutes to get some fresh air.  Next thing I know, you’re out here, in your underclothes, watching me, and that was supposed to be my job,” he chuckled.  “Don’t tell your ma, by the way, or that David of yours,” he muttered. “They’d both have my neck,” he teased.

After an awkward pause, dad finally asked the million-dollar question that had been on his mind, probably since he first saw me out here, standing around like I was lost, “So… How you feeling today, kid.  Any better?”

At first I didn’t answer, thinking it would be best to come up with a happy, little lie, and just say I’m fine, but decided to just be honest. “I don’t know, dad.  I woke up screaming this morning, because I thought I was drowning, then I flipped out in the shower and ended up making myself sick, because, once again, I thought I was drowning, and just now, I woke up, freaked out and had to leave the inside of the house, because I thought my being left alone meant that pretty soon, I was going to be drowning again.  Not to mention my whole body aches.  I don’t think any of those antibiotics are working, I’m still getting sick, I’m still tired, I can’t breath right, I…” I forced myself to stop, knowing if I didn’t now, I wouldn’t ever.  My brain just wasn’t the same anymore; I couldn’t open my mouth without telling everyone my entire life’s story nowadays.

Dad came off the porch and gently lifted me up to stand by my arms, as if I was still his hurt, twelve year old son with a simple bruise on my knee, before wrapping his arms around me and giving me a great, big hug. “I’m sorry, Noah.  I’m sorry you have to go through all this.”

“I know, dad,” I whispered, knowing it was okay to break down in front of him, that he would hold me threw it and lend me some of his strength.

“If there was anything in the world I could do or give to make it so none of this ever happened to one of my kids, you know I would, my boy.  I don’t know why things like this are allowed to happen to good people, I ask God that question every time I wake up at night and hear you suffering, but I know you’ll get stronger from this, Noah.  I’ve never seen you fall from anything that you couldn’t pick yourself back up from.  And you’ll beat this too; I know you will.  You’re a clumsy, accident-prone, little boy with a body and soul that can heal and bounce back from anything.  You’ll beat this, boy, just keep fighting.”

Mom’s dog continued to whine by my foot while dad rode out the storm with me, always encouraging, always keeping me held up and supported, because I knew at his words, I wouldn’t be able to stand on my own.  It’d felt like I’d been spending too much time under the constant negative fire of David’s conservative parents that I’d forgotten what good, real parents felt like; warm, strong, and ready take in whatever it was that caused their child pain, and bare the weight with them if they could.  Coming home was undoing far more damage than a shrink and a drawer full of pills.  “Thanks, dad.”

“Of course, Noah,” his work-roughed hands wiped the remaining tears away from my face, as he returned to his old teasing self, “Would it even make you feel better if I just came out and told you that your mine and your ma’s favorite?”

My smile came back, “Would you mind sitting with me on the grass for a while?”

“Let’s get into those rocking chairs instead.  These old bones can’t roll around in no grass with Minnie trying to tear my leg off.  Come on, up the steps,” he ordered.

“Old bones?  Dad, you turned forty-four last month.  That’s not old.”

“Hm, if that’s the way you see it, _make sure_ to tell your ma, you got that?”

I eased back into the rocking chair beside his, finally beginning relax, “Yeah, yeah, I got it.”

“That’s my boy.  Now sleep, so when your ma comes back and finds us out here, she won’t start yelling at me for not doing my job.” The dog barked again.  Dad sighed in mock irritation back at her, “Oh, alright.  Get up here, Minnie, you spoiled brat.”

I couldn’t help but smile and keep it stuck on my face as I drifted back off to sleep, knowing that I was in a lot of good hands here and I could finally relax and begin to get my life back on track and get rid of the chaos that was swirling around in my head.

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

“So, what did you do today,” David asked as we sat on the steps of the porch together, after mom and dad retreated into the house.

I could feel the sun setting lower in sky, as the air grew colder, the source of mild heat shifting.  I closed my eyes as a chilly breeze swept by, wishing I had put on more clothing before running outside in the middle of December, grateful for the blanket mom set out for me, and the warm ball of Minnie’s fur curled up in my lap.  “I talked with dad,” I answered slowly.

“Oh, yeah?  What about, may I ask?” He wrapped the blanket tighter over my too skinny shoulders, coming over to sit next to me.

“I told him about…” I searched for the right words. “I wasn’t feeling well, and I came outside for air, and he asked me how I was doing and I told him.  Surprisingly, it turned out better than what I thought it would.  I’d forgotten what life was like here; everyone seems so… at peace with everything here, you know?  I mean, we’re all quiet with one another – it would be odd and difficult for any parent to be in their shoes so suddenly and not to be able to simply patch things up with band-aids, or to have your son require his boyfriend be with him every time he’s wet and naked… But he understood, and it felt great to have that.” I let the blanket fall from my shoulders again, idly wondering when the small amount of weight I’d had would return and make me not look so anorexic anymore. “I haven’t talked to mom yet, but I think, after today, I feel more comfortable talking about it.  Things between mom and I have been a bit quiet since Julie’s wedding… And whenever she talks to me now, it just seems so sad… I know.  I’m rambling again, sorry.”

“No, it’s okay.  I like hearing you talk; you don’t do it enough,” he pulled the blanket over both our shoulders as he got in under it with me, making me feel self-conscious about being so skinny wrapped in his healthy, manly arms. “How is Julie, by the way?”

“Pregnant.  She plans on having it with her husband’s family, so she’ll be in Texas for a while yet.”

David sat quiet for a minute, avoiding discussing the fact that my sister had been in Texas for the past six months and hadn’t tried to contact me once neither in New Orleans nor here at home, as he had little to comment about her further. “You know, your mother and I had a good time in town today, we talked a lot about almost everything.  Your uncle seems like a great guy.  You should come with us next time.”

“I suppose you did most of the talking then, if mom didn’t mention why I  _hadn’t_  been invited today.  My uncle is a wonderful guy, but his son’s are terrible; we don’t get along at all.”

“Well… I mean… I’m sure they’ve matured more since you left, and I’d imagine they’d be a lot nicer now.”

“Saying that God has been punishing me since birth, because he knew I would ‘become a gay,’ and that the hurricane was supposed to be ‘my final warning,’ I’d think they were just about as terrible as when I first left.”

“They… they actually said that?  No way, they were joking.  No one can say that and mean it, unless they’re both brainwashed Baptists like my family, but your family doesn’t seem to be very religious, so…”

“It’s nothing to do with religion; they just hate me, that’s all.  They’re both twins, and they were born around the same time as me.  As babies, we got along just fine, until someone realized one day that I was couldn’t see anything, then suddenly I was getting all the attention, and they didn’t like that.  When we got older, their father bought them a dog, which was great, until mom mentioned that I’d probably do better with a guide dog rather than a cane, Uncle Joel got me dog, too.  It was beautiful; it’s fur felt so wonderful to touch, unlike the twins’ dog whose fur felt coarse from them terrorizing it so much.  But my dog, Bullet, he wasn’t even trained or anything to be a guide dog; my uncle just put a collar on him and tied the end of leash to my hand and let him drag me around all day, but Bullet understood, and was an excellent dog…”

“What happened to him?”

“Those bastards killed him.  He was beautiful and their dog felt ugly; they were jealous of my dog, and me.  They starved and beat their dog until it turned mean just like them and went after me, but Bullet wouldn’t let it hurt me, so… Do I need to tell you more reasons why we aren’t friends?”

“No, I get it.  I’m sorry.”

I simply shrugged, surprised to be crying over something that happened so many years ago, “It’s okay.  I used to be afraid of dogs after that for along time.  I remember hearing the dog coming towards us and then all hell broke loose.  Dad was so busy pulling me away that he didn’t have time to save Bullet until it was too late.  He shot the dog to get him to stop, and then had to shoot Bullet because he was too badly hurt.  I managed to say goodbye before he died, while dad was getting rid of the other dog’s body, and made the mistake of trying to touch him like I always did, and being traumatized by so much blood and teeth.” I shook my head to get the memory out. “I was literally climbing on top of tables to get away from mom’s dogs when she got them.  But I think as I got more used to them being round, I was able to understand and remember how good dogs felt, like Minnie.” The smile from earlier came back as I realized she’d fallen asleep in my lap as I petting her.

“Minnie saved the day, huh,” David teased.

“I think I may need her to rescue me again,” I thought aloud.

“How are you feeling now,” David asked carefully.

“Tired,” I sighed, unable to stop myself from running my mouth again, “I hate being sick, I hate taking so many pills… I can’t seem to accept what happened in my mind, because everything feels… the same.  I mean, I know how to tell things apart; just like how things look different to you, and you can tell the difference between shower water and rain, or a bathtub full of water from a flood.  I can feel the differences between them, how they feel if you stick your hand in them or if you drink them, but I can’t seem to be able to do that when it counts.  They all feel the same against my body, you know?  Like, heavy rain and water from a shower both hit your skin the same way, and being surrounded by water in a tub feels the same as being under water…”

“I don’t fully understand.” Despair was trying to creep back into his low voice.

“It’s like the rational, nice things like showers and baths, or swimming pools… or the lake out back… it’s like those things don’t exist anymore, and all that’s left is what’s dirty, immense, and too painful.”

“Well, maybe Minnie really is what you need now?  Just like you got over your fear of dogs, maybe you need to… I dunno, get used to nice water again?”

“This is different now.  I don’t think that would work this time,” I answered sadly

“Why not?  We should at least give it a try.  What’s stopping you?”

“The fact alone that I’m not even in water right now, yet I’m on edge, because there’s a giant lake in the backyard.  Besides, I’ve been taking close to three showers a day for the past four months, because I can’t convince myself that I’m clean… It’s just different this time, that’s all.”

“But how?  I mean, the same negative feelings that kept you afraid of dogs are the same negative feelings towards water.  You think of the lake and instead of remembering, perhaps, once swimming in it, you think of Lake Pontchartrain eating the house.  We just need to try and see what happens, okay?  You aren’t fighting this alone, babe, remember that everyone here’s going to help you as much as they can.”

“I’m not so sure I should talk with mom about any of this.  She can be very…”

“Worried?  Yeah, I got that today.”

“More like obsessively protective and cautious about everything that pertains to me,” I murmured.

David scoffed, “She doesn’t seem that bad.  I mean, sure, most of the things we got to day were a bit on the ‘child-safety-lock’ side, but she cares about you.  That’s all.  Wait ‘til you see what she’s cooking for dinner,” he tried to ease out of the subject.

“Let’s put it this way; I won’t know what’s for dinner until after it’s cooked and the stove has been turned off and given time to cool off.  I’m not allowed in the kitchen when the stove’s on, because what if I – for some odd reason – can’t  _feel_  that the stove is  _hot_  and I end up burning myself, or something.  My mom would blame herself past old age and death if I get hurt again.”

“What do you mean?”

 


End file.
